


Martyr

by BummedOutWriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Animagus, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Hermione Granger, Auror Ron Weasley, Department of Mysteries, F/M, M/M, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Mpreg, Mystery, Pregnant Draco Malfoy, Romance, Time Travel, Time Turner (Harry Potter), Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, Unspeakable Hermione Granger, Unspeakables (Harry Potter), Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 14:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16020086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BummedOutWriter/pseuds/BummedOutWriter
Summary: Unspeakable Neville Longbottom spends his days exploring rooms within the Department of Mysteries, tinkering with broken time turners, and working with his idiosyncratic collegues (most of whom certainly aren’t Gryffindors). He tries not to spend too much time speculating on Malfoy’s paper-marriage to Harry, Ron’s death by vampires, overly enthusiastic house-elves, or...or Hannah.Neville finds his placid existence disrupted when he is confronted with a curse that proves as deadly as it is contagious, and only he can stop it, that is, if he doesn’t freeze up again.





	Martyr

It had been the last day of Auror training. That evening, a ministry function was held in their honor.

As usual, Harry was sending Malfoy dark looks as he trailed along after Ron and Hermione, who were flirting liberally, and absently ignoring him.

Harry’s jaw was stronger and rougher, his robes stretching against a new layer of muscle.

Malfoy was as slim and elegant as ever, looking as though he had just graduated from eighteen weeks of finishing school rather than Auror training. Maybe his back was straighter and his eyes warier, but Neville could not detect much of a change otherwise. Malfoy returned Harry’s glares with these dead stares that seemed neither hostile nor polite. Neville would not have understood the dynamic even if it had been part of the coursework.

Ron was being veritably sycophantic towards his new fiancé. Neville wondered if he had accidentally drowned one of Hermione’s textbooks in the bath again. The woman in question merely blushed and grinned under his clumsy charm so Ron happily aggressed her with his flirtations. Then he embraced her.

Neville’s eyes drifted over to Hannah Abott, who sent him a furtive smile in return. Feeling his face warm, Neville raised his glass and started towards her, but was interrupted by a growing commotion in the center of the ball room. A stray spell shot out and hit one of the new Unspeakables, Pansy Parkinson. She crumpled to the ground, eyes bloodshot and lips turning blue.

Hermione raised her wand in tandem with a pale wizard who quickly disarmed her, sending her stunning spell off target and crashing through an antique vase.

Spells flew in every direction, one leaving Harry stunned and another leaving Malfoy with a gash in his chest that Neville was certain would be fatal if someone didn’t—he didn’t—

Neville stood frozen by the mantle, his drink sitting loosely in his cupped hand. He regained himself enough to huddle down behind the bar. He peeked up to spot Hannah struggling against a magical noose that seemed to be choking her where she stood, her throat producing short, horrible squeaks.

Ron shoved Hermione aside in time to intercept the pale wizard from before. Ron attempted to lift his wand but the wizard gripped Ron’s wrist with one hand and his hair with the other, then bit into the side of Ron’s throat.

A vampire.

Two other pale figures joined the first, one biting the opposite side of Ron’s neck, and another biting Ron’s chest, close to his heart. They kept the redhead caged between them as Ron grew increasingly pale, his eyelids fluttering. Hermione screamed, but Neville hardly heard a thing, because suddenly Ron was being dumped on the ground, his eyes wide but seeing nothing. A golden chain came loose from beneath his robes.

The three creatures exchanged bloody grins and apparated away, leaving harried old officials to pick up what was left of the new graduates.

The attack turned out being a political protest of recent legislation on the rights of magical creatures.

Four people died. The legislation was rescinded. Several new recruits dropped out of the aurors, Neville included.

*

A year later Harry Potter was smiling queerly at his coffee mug.

“Morning Harry,” Neville greeted as he passed the auror’s cubicle.

Harry quickly wiped his goofy expression away. “Morning Nev,” he said with a nod.

“Morning Hermione,” Neville added.

“Oh, hello Neville.” A flustered-looking Hermione smiled up at him from a cubicle.

Neville walked to the lift at the end of the aisle. As he waited for the doors to open, he saw Malfoy walk past Harry’s cubicle. The two didn’t spare each other a glance.

“Hard to believe they’re married, isn’t it?” someone said beside him. Neville turned to Hannah. “Morning Nev.”

“Morning.” Neville returned his gaze to the floor where Malfoy had backtracked. “Potter.”

“Malfoy?” said Harry quietly. He turned in his seat.

“Do you have those files I requested?”

“They should be ready by this afternoon.”

“Thanks,” said Malfoy, and he walked away. He joined Hannah and Neville by the lift and absently rubbed his back. Malfoy’s eyes had been shadowed lately, but he didn’t necessarily look unhealthy. Rather, the opposite.

“Longbottom. Abott.”

“Morning Malfoy.”

“Morning.”

Harry threw the three a glance, then turned back to his desk.

Despite their fiery beginnings—well, their mutual enmity growing up, and in auror training—Harry and Malfoy didn’t seem to have much chemistry. They treated each other not with hostility or belittlement, but indifference. It was sort of like they couldn’t be bothered with aggression anymore, or any other feelings for that matter. But at least they were professional, and they seemed to get along, if with a strange detachment. Some called it a paper marriage. Neville didn’t mind either way. Honestly, it was _their_ business. Neville followed Hannah into the lift.

Just before the doors could slide shut, a bronzed hand shot out, and pulled it open.

“Morning,” said Boot, looking slightly disheveled as he entered the small space.

“Morning,” the others parroted in varying monotones.

Neville tapped his wand to the panel and the elevator swallowed them down.

“Level 9,” the speaker announced. “Department of Mysteries.”

*

As an Unspeakable, Neville worked in the Time Chamber. He had been spending weeks working tirelessly to repair a time turner—the last one in existence. Though others had cast their doubts, Neville knew it was salvageable. The more he tinkered with it, though, the more frustrated he grew. The aesthetic damages had already been corrected, but the device needed a delicate balance of spell-work that could take years to achieve and could drive a wizard mad in the process.

He wondered if the magic was too much.  
He could feel the chamber breathing around him, the burden of history tainting his spellwork, which was already too abrasive, too harsh and inelegant.

Neville decided to ask a colleague for help.

In minutes he found himself standing outside of the Thought Chamber, where he knew Terry Boot was working this quarter. Neville placed his palm against the mahogany door, and just as he began to push it in, his back went rigid, in what was unmistakably a consequence of a _petrificus totalus_. His robes flew up over his head before he toppled over, after which he heard clumsy feet scurrying from the corridor. Neville grunted on the floor for several minutes, sending his magic down his limbs, slowly unfreezing them. By the time he was able to move, he heard someone gasp and hurry over.

“Neville? Nev, are you alright?” said Dennis Creevy, one if the ministry curse-breakers. He pulled Neville to his feet and began to pat his hair and clothes back into place, but mostly just ruffled them up more. “What happened, Neville? Were you attacked? Who was it, Nev. You can tell me, can’t you?”

Neville pulled himself out of Creevy’s grip. “It’s fine, Dennis. No harm done.” He was rather flustered.

As Dennis gave him a dubious look, Neville again pushed at the door of the Thought Chamber. To his surprise, the door wouldn’t open this time.

Minutes later Neville walked into the Love Chamber, resolving to have a word with Boot later.

Love was the only division he had never worked in before. The interior of the room was expansive, yet it seemed claustrophobic somehow. There was a massive fountain that took up most of the floor. It was filled with a milky liquid which also overflowed from a long vertical spout in the center where it trickled down in pale tendrils to the pool.

Beside the fountain sat Malfoy, his back erect and his eyes closed. His nose was tipped upwards because the room smelled like freshly-picked apples, antiseptic, and snake blood. Neville shivered as he forced his legs forward. He wondered if he should have felt envious of Malfoy’s assignment. Malfoy got to sit around all day sniffing the most powerful love potion known to the wizarding world. He was supposed to be analyzing its evocative properties but he seemed to be enjoying himself far too much. Neville focused on the man in question just in time to see him dip a small cup into the pool and gulp some potion down.

“Malfoy!” Neville admonished.

Malfoy turned to him. “It won’t make me fall in love,” he said thickly. “It merely serves to intensify what already exists. As such, it enables me to analyze the components of those feelings.” Malfoy rested his hand on his stomach, his cheeks flushed. His eyes fluttered and closed again.

“You look high,” Neville blurted.

Malfoy peeked up at him. “Maybe I am, a bit.”

Malfoy was luxuriating rather than working. It was just like the man to turn a job into a place of leisure. Neville wondered what Malfoy was likely thinking about. Was he reminiscing over of his pet peacock, or his favorite dragonhide boots. Surely not... “What—"

“How can I help you, Longbottom?”

Neville pulled the time turner out of his pocket. He walked over to Malfoy and offered it over to him. Malfoy stroked the intricate moldings. He arbitrarily tossed it high in the air above them, causing Neville to tense up. But Malfoy caught it easily, and Neville was bizarrely reminded of the remembrall incident in first year. “I was already eying an object to work on, but I admit, this is more interesting. I’m stationed here all day but after hours might work. Yours? Six?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s fine. I’ll see if Abott can join us.”

Neville felt a twinge in his gut, but he was sure it was the potion effecting him somehow.

“See you then,” said Malfoy, in a non-subtle dismissal. He placed the time turner against Neville’s palm and curled Neville’s fingers around it, as though certain the former-Gryffindor would drop it.

Which was ironic because Malfoy had a dreamy look about him and his pupils seemed too large. “In fact, I’ll walk you out.” Malfoy stood carefully and motioned to the door. “I have some files to pick up.”

*

The time turner passed hands continuously as their magic strained and wearied, then clashed against the spells already present. The object twitched and shivered. Hannah, by far, had the gentlest magic among the three. Neville would have been hopeless without the aid of his colleagues.

Malfoy lowered his wand and rubbed his temple. He looked tired—well, moreso than lately.

“Mister Malfoy would like some tea?” Tibby, the house elf, asked. Tibby was one of the last of the Longbottom house elves and today had taken a special interest in Malfoy for some reason.

“No thank you,” said Malfoy pithily, for the third time. He threw an exasperated glance around the study, as though tempted to escape.

“Mister Malfoy must stay hydrated!” Tibby insisted, causing Malfoy to frown.

Neville was more intrigued than he was amused. He fumbled with his spell-work, and winced as the time turner zapped his palm.

“Tea would be fine,” said Malfoy in quiet capitulation. Neville was surprised that he would be cowed by the elf.

Tibby snapped his fingers, and a tea tray appeared. There were biscuits, and little sandwiches too. Malfoy lifted a cup and took a reluctant sip. Neville passed the time turner to Hannah.

“We’re getting close,” she said as she tinkered. “I can feel it.” After several moments, she sighed and hung her head.

Tea lowered, Malfoy reached out for his turn with the device. Instead he was again accosted by Tibby who was trying to convince him to bundle up in one of Gran’s quilts. “Mister Malfoy must stay warm!”

“Longbottom, I’m leaving,” Malfoy grumbled, and he departed without much ceremony.

“Elf magic,” Hannah shrugged in his wake. She passed the time turner back over to Neville. “Maybe Tibby can sense that Malfoy’s coming down with something. Is that right Tibby?”

Tibby merely scowled down at the Malfoy-less quilt in his hands.

*

“Longbottom. Longbottom, are you in?”

Neville awoke to someone calling him from the floo. He blinked up at the ceiling for a moment in confusion.

“Longbottom!”

Neville climbed out of bed at recognizing his superior’s voice. He made his way to his bedroom fireplace and knelt down to it. “Argent, sir?”

“There’s been an incident.”

“Right.” Neville cast a quick _tempus_. It was two in the morning. “What kind of incident?”

“A cursed object has set off. We sent in one of our curse-breakers, however—Longbottom, we need this contained. This curse is proving to be contagious.”

“Contagious?” Nevile echoed. That was rare with curses.

Argent’s disembodied head bobbed in a nod. “Highly. As such, this needs to be contained. I do not want this curse leaving the DMLE. I need you to call in team 3C—excluding Mr. Malfoy. Learn as much as you can about the curse, contain it, and await further instruction.”

“Understood.”

Argent’s head disappeared.

Rubbing his eyes, Neville made a floo call to Grimmauld. Harry picked up. The auror was disheveled and pulling on a shirt, though he didn’t have sleep in his eyes. Neville told him that team 3C had been summoned.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes. I’ll let Draco know.”

Neville was surprised to hear Harry address Malfoy by his first name. It rendered him speechless for a second too long. “No, Argent doesn’t want Malfoy to—"

But Harry had already ended the call.  
With a sigh, Neville flooed Hermione. Maybe he could stop Malfoy before they got into the ministry. Though, admittedly, he did not want to be the one to make that interception.

*

Team 3C was unique because it was composed primarily of Unspeakables. When Neville arrived to the DMLE, Harry and Malfoy were already present, as was Creevy. They stood around Terry Boot, who was slumped in a chair by one of the cubicles. As Neville approached the small group, he heard the lift chime. In his periphery, he could see Hermione and Hannah enter the dark office.

“It was the pocket watch,” Boot was saying as the others crowded around. He looked surprisingly boyish, as he had in his later years of Hogwarts. It was also apparent to Neville that Boot had lost several inches of height. “As I dissembled it I found traces of a curse. At first I thought I had been successful in destroying it, but the curse had just transferred to me.”

“It’s deaging you,” Hermione concluded.

“No,” said Boot, looking uneasy and wan. “It’s draining my magic. You see, I’m a metamorphmagus. I think this is just a side-effect. Internally my magic is shrinking, and so is my body.”

It was true that Boot’s magic had taken on a staticky quality. It made Neville feel sick. “Is that even possible?” he managed.

“Apparently,” said Creevy, ruffling his own hair in an absent way. “I tried to help him—I did a magical transfer, just to slow things down. But the curse—it clung onto my magic. And now I can feel myself fading as well. It’s horrible.”

“What does this mean?” said Harry. He was looking directly at Hermione. Malfoy was already walking off to the departmental library.

“It’s not good,” said Hermione. “We’ve had magic since birth. It’s integrated itself into every facet of our biology. Without it, we can’t function. In fact, most wizards would—”

“Die,” Boot supplied. To Neville, he looked yet younger, and smaller, in his wrists and his nose.

“That’s not going to happen,” said Harry firmly.

“We can try some restorative potions,” Hermione said. “It might help a bit until we can develop a cure.”

“How long would a cure take?” said Neville.

Hermione pressed her lips and shook her head.

Boot’s knuckles were taut where they gripped the arms of his chair. “It’s impossible to say,” he muttered.

“Right,” said Harry. “Well we should have restorative potions covered. Can someone get Malfoy?”

Neville raised his brows. “Don’t you mean Draco?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Harry looked surprised. “Yes, well he’s Malfoy at the office,” he said with an odd quirk to his lips, then he turned to Creevy to inquire more about the curse’s effect on him.

When Malfoy was summoned, he brought with him several books and a whole box of potions which he resized into something that was more suitably a crate.

The restorative potions had no impact. Boot was a preteen by then. Creevy was weak and shaky and had needed to take a seat himself.

“Perhaps we could have used the restorative potions as a basis for a cure, but now I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Malfoy said. It had been an hour and they were all exhausted. Harry pulled out a chair and Malfoy took it without question. A slight lapse in their meticulous professionalism, Neville supposed.

As Hermione buried herself in a tome, Harry continued to monitor Creevy as well as Boot, who was rapidly approaching his toddler stage, and was now having difficulty staying awake. His body was adapting to the magical imbalance by making him smaller and smaller. Harry’s wand hung in his hand but he was hesitant to try casting anything. Hermione had assured that if he did the curse would jump to him.

Neville felt useless. He touched Hannah’s arm. She nodded to him, and joined him in an office off the main room. Several sconces lit upon their arrival, but the room was still dim and shadowed.

“Do you think we can work on this?” He pulled out the time turner.

Though he didn’t know whether it was more a solution or a distraction, Hannah offered a weak smile and held out her hand. Neville handed it over. Then they continued their efforts to repair the delicate balance of spells, the time turner most sympathetic with Hannah, practically gravitating towards her palms.  
After a while, both were breathless and pale. Neville had not realized how much magic they had been exerting. He pocketed the time turner. “Let’s check back with the others.”

When they returned to the small group of ministry employees, Neville immediately noticed that both Boot and Creevy were gone.

“He could be anywhere,” said Malfoy, his voice tinged with panic. “He could be a worm or an ant—“

“He’ll be fine,” said Harry, though he sounded uncertain.

“How can we help him if we can’t even find him? What if he’s out of magic by now?”

“We need to stay focused,” said Hermione. “How is the potion theory coming along?”

“It’s not going anywhere,” said Malfoy irritably.

“Where are they?” Neville cut in. Beside him Hannah wrapped her arms around herself.

“Boot is...gone,” said Hermione. She continued without elaboration. “Creevy lost consciousness a few minutes ago.” She nodded to a chair a few feet away, where Creevy was sprawled back, too still to be sleeping.

“He’s on his last wisps of magic,” said Malfoy, and they could all sense it. “He’s dying.”

Hannah covered her mouth with her hand. There were no protests, no reassurances. Just silence, as though they were already mourning him.

Malfoy went over to Creevy in a few quick strides. Before anyone could react, Malfoy reached his arms down to Creevy’s shoulders as if to initiate a magical transfer.

In an instant, Harry was roughly jerking him away. “Stop it! You’re pregnant!”

Neville was stunned. In fact, he was sure he had misheard.

“We can’t just let him die,” Malfoy seethed.

“That’s my child you’re carrying. You are not drawing on her magic.”

Face flushed in ire, Malfoy slowly relaxed back into his professional mask. “Then I will not be witness to this.” He grabbed up a tome and marched off to Robarbs’s office.

As the office door slammed shut, Harry sighed. “How much longer does he...” Harry trailed off and Neville followed his gaze to see that Hannah had taken Malfoy’s place, two if her hands clasping one of Dennis’s.

“Minutes,” Hannah breathed, settling on the floor beside the chair. “But hopefully this buys him a little more time.”

*

The transfer didn’t hold up for long. Dennis was gone within the hour.

And now Hannah was suffering the effects of the curse.

Neville tinkered with the time turner if just to distract himself, and to not think about how listless Hannah was getting. Or how it should have been him who was cursed, not Hannah.

Neville decided to go to Robarbs’s office to see if Malfoy could help with the time turner some more.

 _Malfoy...who’s pregnant,_ Neville thought, still rather shocked. _Pregnant with Harry’s child._ So then...they certainly got along.

It made sense, in hindsight, what with all of Malfoy’s idiosyncrasies lately. Neville felt like an idiot for missing it. He sighed and shook his head.

When Neville pushed himself into the office, the sconces lit up for him, which was odd, as they should have already been on. It took him a moment to spot Malfoy, who was slumped against the desk, his face buried in his arms. He had been wearing a glamour, Neville realized, because his belly was round now. He looked six months gone.

“Harry!” Neville called out the door.

Harry and Hermione rushed into the room. Neville stood back, watching in dread as Harry shook Malfoy gently, to no result. “Draco...”

Neville could already sense it—Malfoy’s magic had taken on that foreboding, staticky quality.

“Shit,” Harry hissed. He immediately began a magical transfer.

“Harry!” Hermione reproved. “You’re giving him too much!”

“He’s more important,” Harry said in a dismissive way. He continued the transfer until Malfoy awoke and gained enough sense to pull away.

“’m okay. I’m fine.”

Harry looked eviscerated. He put his face in hands. “You should have never been here,” he said, causing the tightness of guilt to bloom in Neville’s chest. “This is too dangerous. Fuck.” Harry walked to the couch by the far wall and dropped himself to it.

“I chose to come,” said Malfoy. He stood and approached Harry, who took his hand.

Malfoy resisted only briefly as Harry pulled him into his lap. He looked embarrassed, but only mildly. “I have to give birth,“ he concluded.

Harry wrapped his arms around Malfoy’s waist, cupping his belly. “She’s too little.”

“Potter, I’m as big as a quaffle,” said Malfoy tartly, but his next words were tremulous, “Besides, she’ll survive.”

“I’m afraid she won’t,” Hermione croaked, tears in his eyes. “I’ve no doubt that she’s infected as well.”

Malfoy’s cool mask fell away, but he replaced it just as rapidly. “Then I have to work on the potion theory.” He made to get up, but Harry pulled him back and held him firmly.

“Stay with me,” Harry breathed.

Malfoy sagged against him, nodding. He buried his face in Harry’s shoulder. Neville left to check on Hannah.

Hannah was unconscious in her chair. Neville didn’t bother with trying to wake her. Though she had never been a powerful witch, she had a fastidious talent with magic. _This is my fault,_ Neville realized miserably. Not for Terry and Dennis—but at least for Harry and Malfoy—no—Draco.

Argent had specifically instructed that Draco be left out of this case. _I’m such an idiot,_ Neville mused. He was still the thoughtless, clumsy git he has been at Hogwarts.

He watched as Hannah's breaths grew fainter. Neville held her hand and said his goodbyes. He pressed the time turner to her cool palm by some visceral compulsion. The metal warmed, then Hannah’s magic faded, and so did her breaths. The time turner clattered to the floor.

As Neville leaned down to collect it, he wiped his wet eyes with his free hand. The time turner felt different somehow. He rolled it between his fingers. It had a pulse to it, one that was both precarious and daunting.

When Neville returned to Robarbs’s office, Draco was unconscious again on Harry’s chest. Harry was still responsive but lethargic and weak.

“Dammit,” said Hermione as she tried to shake Draco awake. Hissing a curse, she rolled up the sleeves of her Unspeakable robes to plant her hands on Draco’s arms and transfer her magic to him.

Neville was the last person who had not been cursed. It was ironic that it would be him. In fact, it was the epitome of irony that a team of skilled Unspeakables, Curse Breakers, and Aurors would die quietly in the office before the work day had begun.

Hermione released Draco and reeled slightly, but Draco showed no sign of recovering. “Obviously I don’t have Harry’s level of magic,” she breathed, her forehead sweaty. She pointed her wand, and Draco disappeared to be replaced with a white cat curled in Harry’s lap.  
Neville shot her a questioning look.

“The smaller the body, the longer the magic will endure,” Hermione explained, as she helped shift Harry down across the couch. Gently, she moved the cat to his chest. “I realized it when I saw what was happening with Terry. His powers were adapting to the curse. This is Draco’s animagus form.”

“Smart,” said a voice.

Neville was surprised that Harry could still wake, let alone speak. Then again, he _was_ Harry Potter.

He did not open his eyes, but he stroked the cat’s back with a shaking hand. “Maybe I should...”

“No Harry,” Hermione soothed. “I’m afraid your animagus form would be a bit counterproductive.” Harry turned into a dog. A big one.

“Right,” said Harry. His hand lowered to his side. “The baby?”

“She’s fine.”

“Mm.” Harry stilled again.

Hermione gingerly lifted the cat and held him to her own chest. She then settled down into the seat by the desk. “How’s the time turner?”

Neville was startled. It figured Hermione would be the one to notice him messing with it. He hesitated, before mumbling, “I think Hannah fixed it. Only just.”

“Are you going to use it?”

“Should I?”

“Only you can make that decision, Nev.” Hermione closed her eyes.

New regulations had made it illegal to use time turners except in catastrophic events. They weren’t even supposed to exist anymore. And people like Hermione, who worked both within the DMLE and the Department of Mysteries, certainly weren’t supposed to know about them. It spurred a departmental conflict of interest—study versus action.

Neville pulled the time turner out of his pocket. He fixed it on the chain about his neck. “I guess I will.”

“Neville,” said Hermione faintly. She was still giving Draco her magic. She had always been braver than smart; too much of both, really. “Take Harry’s invisibility cloak. It’s in the bottom left drawer of his desk.”

“He keeps it in his _desk drawer?_ ” Neville couldn’t help his temerity.

Hermione forced a smile. “He was never the most tactful.” Her smile fell, her body relaxing more than seemed natural.

Neville left the office and rummaged in Harry’s desk, eventually finding the gleaming cloak that felt more like liquid than fabric against his fingers. He wrapped it about his shoulders and lifted the time turner from his chest. He turned it twenty times. _That should be enough._

As the world blurred around him, he could feel himself flying backwards with no air to take in or push from his lungs. Finally the earth leapt up beneath his feet, which left him standing in the DMLE, now bright and warm. It took a moment for his eyes adjust.

As the lift chimed, Neville gained enough composure to think to pull the hood of the cloak up over his head. In walked Draco and Harry. They had arrived before work hours, judging by the vacant office and the visibility of Draco’s pregnancy. Neville staggered several steps backwards to avoid collision with them.

“Your tie,” drawled Draco, as the pair stopped at Harry’s desk. With a flick of his wand, the tie hanging loose about Harry’s neck folded itself into a perfect knot, though might have been a bit too tight, judging by the grimace that Harry gave.

“Your glamour,” Harry murmured. He trailed the tip of his wand up Draco’s round belly as he murmured a spell, then the bump was gone.

“Hm.” Draco lifted the coffee mug from Harry’s hands and licked the rim thoroughly. Neville nearly choked. He felt like a voyer, standing there, gawking at them. He had become witness to the affections the couple had scrupulously kept private.

Harry turned his head, and Neville was almost certain that green eyes met his.

But a second later, Harry was looking at Draco with an idle smile. “Mm, thanks.” He took the mug back and enjoyed a generous sip.

Draco seemed pleased. “I have to drop a report off for Williams before he goes into a meeting. Don’t forget my files.” Draco began to turn but Harry caught his hand.

“Wait.”

Draco raised his brows. “Why?”

“Uhm...”

As Draco grabbed the front of Harry’s shirt, Harry held his coffee outwards to avoid it spilling. While the two came together in an indulgent kiss, Neville shuffled to the lift and stared at the doors in hopes that they would magically open.

Which they did. Hermione stood alone inside it, clutching a small parcel. She looked right through Neville as he slipped inside, instead catching a glimpse of Harry and Draco, before her eyes shot down. The doors closed and the lift did not move again. Instead Hermione stood there, her shoulders trembling, and as she sniffed, Neville realized that she was crying.

 _Please don’t..._ He wanted to comfort her but knew that he couldn’t dare.

After a few moments, Hermione drew in a long breath. Her eyes were red, but she somehow painted her face with a pleasant mask. She tapped her wand to the control panel causing the lift to open again.

“Granger.” Draco had been passing the lift door. He looked flushed, but composed.

“How are you?” said Hermione as she stepped out.

“Fine, I suppose.”

“It won’t be much longer,” she encouraged.

“No.” The corner of Draco’s mouth lifted, but he still looked weary. “What‘s that?” He nodded to the package.

Hermione peeled the paper back to reveal an old pocket watch with a gold chain. “It has traces of a spell we’re not familiar with. It’s not very strong, but it’s quite intriguing. My plate is full at the moment and I was hoping you would volunteer to study it.”

“Still sending me the easy cases?” Draco mocked. 

“At least until my niece is born.”

Draco took the pocket watch, examining the impeccable glass. His gray eyes flashed silver, but then he replaced the paper packaging, covering the lens. “Send it up. I’ll volunteer to do the initial examinations.” He handed it back.

“Unless Boot gets to it first.”

“I’ll keep my schedule clear,” Draco said, as sincerely as he said anything. “Barring any distractions, I’ll pick it up." Draco caught eyes with the department Chair entering the office beside Robarbs’s. Giving Hermione a nod, Draco walked off to follow.

Neville wandered back into the DMLE after Hermione. She slumped down behind a cubicle. Harry was now buried in paperwork a few seats down.

“Morning Harry.”

The scratching of a quill paused, Harry poking his head out to respond. “Morning.” He frowned. “Alright, Hermione?”

“Fine.” Hermione shrugged. “Allergies.”

Harry nodded and sipped his coffee. He turned back to his work but contemplated the mug.

A side entrance opened. Neville saw _himself_ enter the office, which was certainly odd.

“Morning Harry,” other-Neville greeted, cheerful and oblivious as ever.

“Morning Nev.”

“Morning Hermione.”

“Oh, hello Neville.”

Draco returned. “Potter.”

“Malfoy?”

“Do you have those files...”

As the greetings continued, Neville followed the small group of ministry employees into the lift. He narrowly dodged Boot as the former-Ravenclaw forced his way in, then Neville flattened himself to a wall as the elevator moved downwards, now scattered with Unspeakables.

Upon close examination of Boot, Neville realized his visage was off. His nose was too big and his ears were too small, his face almost sort of disheveled like the rest of him was. Again Neville wondered how he had missed that Boot was a metamorphmagus, along with all the other things transpiring in the office right under his nose.

“Level 9. Department of Mysteries.”

*

As the Unspeakables went to their respective stations, Neville waited for the cursed pocket watch to be filed and transferred to the assignment room.

In the main corridor, people walked about clutching paperwork as they immersed themselves with the everyday minutia of working within a magical bureaucracy.

Dennis Creevy scurried around as though trying to compact the work week into a single day. At one point, Terry Boot languidly exited the Thought Chamber to return shortly after with a sandwich in hand. In the early afternoon, Hermione Granger exited the Death Chamber to lean back on the corridor wall, looking like she might be sick.

Neville could not stand to see her so upset. He hadn’t realized how much she was still struggling with Ron’s death. He was about to throw the invisibility cloak off his shoulders and go comfort her, when oblivious-Neville appeared. He walked right past her to turn down an adjacent corridor, in the direction Boot had gone.

Neville bit his lip. If Boot was convinced to work on the time turner, that would leave Draco to work on the cursed pocket watch. Neville stalked after his counterpart, wand twisting in his hand. Just before past-Neville could enter the Thought Room, Neville threw a _petrificus totalus_ and spelled his robes over his head. He then cast a locking spell and some wards on the door before hurrying off past Dennis Creevy who had appeared at the end of the hall.

Neville returned to the outside of the assignment room to continue his wait. Past-Neville stalked past, now headed for the Love Chamber. Minutes later, Draco floated by from the opposite direction, looking terribly lovesick. Neville tapped his fingers to the bicep of his opposite arm, trying to temper his impatience. He felt a tingle of magic in the air, and peeked through the glass window into the office to see that a small parcel has populated one of the empty bins on the desk.

Neville waited for his past self to wobble back to the Time Chamber before he slipped into the assignment room. He tried to grab the watch, but it went through his hand as though it was holographic. Neville pulled off the invisibility cloak and tried again, only now the watch felt like liquid and slipped through his fingers.

The magic wasn’t going to let him claim the assignment until he filed it properly. With a sign, Neville grabbed several forms off a nearby shelf, when the door swung open.

“Thought I saw you in here, Longbottom,” said Terry Boot. “Cursed objects aren’t exactly your forte.”

Neville flinched as Boot summoned the paperwork from his hands. “I’ve got this, Boot,” he said acerbically.

Boot gave him a cagy look. “Were you the one who tried to lock me in the Thought Chamber? You _do_ know your magical signature gets recorded every time you touch the door. I have half a mind to report you. Now what are you planning with this ob—”

_“Stupefy.”_

Boot dropped, messily, like a bag of Quidditch supplies. Neville shoved him under the desk and grabbed some fresh forms. He scribbled down the details of his assignment claim with limited accuracy. He signed the last page, and to his relief, was able to lift the watch.

The metal glimmered in the characteristic way that cursed objects tended to. Everything about it was alluring to him. Neville stroked the face of the watch. He knew he should put it away, but didn’t. Instead he admired it, and allowed it to pester his magic. He felt a thrum of heat in his hands. “Shit.” Neville threw the watch into the air. _“Reducto.”_ It burst into dust.

The room was left with no trace of the spell, but Neville could feel it internally. That staticky quality. His magic had reached out and taken the curse.

Neville hurried out of the room and went up to the DMLE. His head down, he made for the exit.

“Nev.”

Neville met eyes with Harry, who was looking flushed—in fact, looking properly snogged.

“You okay?” Harry asked, his lips wry.

“Fine,” said Neville, maintaining a healthy distance. “You and Draco, um...you really are getting on well.”

Harry’s smile dropped. “Yes, sorry, we try to keep things professional at work—”

“No, I—it’s good.”

Harry gave him a speculative look. “It’s been a while since we all got together as friends. And I wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure. Tomorrow?” Neville offered, even though he knew that there wouldn’t be a tomorrow for him.

“Brilliant.” Harry beamed.

Neville left the ministry, and the moment he was certain that no one was looking, he shrunk down into his animagi form—a mouse. He found an old rabbit burrow where he curled up, closed his eyes, and slowly lost all concept of self. He felt his magic draining as days became weeks, yet he didn’t know why he chose to prolong things. Until finally one day he felt a bit more like himself, a bit more like his magic, which didn’t make sense, because he was certainly dead.

*

Neville blinked owlishly around the room. He was propped up in bed on a multitude of pillows.

Everyone was there.

Hannah stood at his bedside with Hermione, and Terry Boot. Harry and Draco were there, and Harry was holding a—baby? 

“Welcome back.” Hannah grinned through her wet eyes.

“What?” Neville stammered. “How?”

“The curse ran its course in your animagi form,” Hermione aided. “The magical drain is relative to the size of the person, meaning, it took the curse weeks—months, really—to completely drain your magic.”

“And you adapted, Neville,” Harry said. “It was a slow, progressive thing, and your body sort of learned how to function without magic.”

“Without magic?” said Neville in alarm. “I’m a—“

“Squib,” Draco supplied, a little too smugly, in Neville’s opinion.

“Not a natural one,” Hermione added. “The main thing is that you’re alive. It was a brilliant move, Nev. You potentially saved us all.”

Neville could almost laugh. She had no idea. He looked around at them all in astonishment. Harry shifted the baby in his arms.

“Um, this is Lily,” Harry said, handling the new-father role with appropriate awkwardness. “Like I said, you were out for a while, Nev. But she’s great. Here.” And he handed Lily over without much warning.

The baby was all blonde hair, green eyes, and rosy cheeks. She was terribly cute even as she looked at Neville with a moue of uncertainty, whimpered, and then began to bawl.

But it was a happy noise. It reminded him he was alive; they all were. Neville couldn’t help but giggle.

“Like this.” Draco appeared at Neville’s side and adjusted the infant with a tenderness that Neville didn’t usually associate with the blonde. The wailing tapered to an adorable whimpering.

“Welcome back,” Draco said quietly. “Neville.” He rolled the word on his tongue. “You’re her godfather, of course. It was decided while you were sleeping your lazy arse away.”

“Sounds brilliant,” mumbled Neville, wiping his eyes.

The baby was lifted. “Get some rest, Longbottom.”

The group filtered out of the room with murmured goodbyes. Hannah squeezed his hand, which made his whole body warm. Hermione was the last to leave, but she lingered by the door.

“I’d like to study you, if you’d let me.”

Neville nodded dumbly, though he wasn’t upset about his lacking of magic. Maybe it simply hadn’t set in yet.

“No guarantees.” Hermione moved closer to the bed, dithering for some reason. Finally, she reached into the collar of her blouse and drew out a chain. “We found this near you. My old time turner. Neville... where did you get it?”

Neville inhaled deeply, but he couldn't refuse her. Not anymore. “When--when Ron died it was on his person. Because of...potential conflicts of interest, I had to keep that detail confidential.”

“Oh,” said Hermione blankly. “I suspected.” Idly, she fiddled with the hour glass between her pointer finger and thumb.

“The vampires...” Neville managed.

Hermione gave a shaky smile. “He knew exactly where they’d be. What they’d do.”

His voice cracked. “He loved you.”

Ron Weasley had lived through the vampire attack and watched Hermione die. Then he had gone back in time and died in her stead.

“I know,” Hermione choked out, then she pressed her lips, and didn’t say anything more for a while. “He was very brave.” She took a long breath to compose herself. Neville pressed his palms to his eyes.

“This makes it the third time this thing has saved me,” Hermione mused. She thrust the time turner into the air and with a _reducto_ it was gone. “Thank you, Neville.”

Neville merely shook his head.

“I’ll do everything in my power to heal you.”

Neville just grinned. It hardly mattered.


End file.
